The Meeting
by Alohaemora
Summary: November 1981. Albus Dumbledore makes Severus Snape a life-changing offer.


6 November 1981

Severus Snape stared impassively at the stretch of wall in front of him. The Headmaster's office was a grand, circular room with a vast number of large windows and a great deal of beautiful, natural light, but Severus didn't think he had ever been less pleased to be in it. Dimly, he remembered the very first time he had ever stepped foot in the office, on a wintry, December night, nearly six years previous—the night Sirius Black had sent him to his death, and James Potter had saved his life. It had only been six years since that ominous night, though to Severus, it could have been a lifetime.

He felt he had aged more in the past week alone than he had in his twenty-one years of existence. He had spent the past five days alone in his house, surrounded by books he had no desire to read, food he had no desire to eat, and a cold, unforgiving silence that seemed to penetrate every bone in his body. The past week had felt like one long nightmare; the only problem was that he couldn't seem to wake up.

Blinking, Severus shifted his gaze for the first time in fifteen minutes, away from the blue paint of the wall behind the Headmaster's chair, and onto the portraits that covered almost every spare inch of the office. Most of the occupants were asleep—or at the very least, pretending, and for that, Severus was grateful. It had been five days since the last time he had been in the office, five days since the inhabitants of the portraits on the wall had seen him break down and cry for a woman whose love and friendship he had never deserved. Severus's eyes flickered from one snoring face, to the next. Then, slowly, Severus turned back around to face the Headmaster's chair, swallowing.

It was ten minutes before Severus heard the telltale groan of the staircase behind the door springing to life. Severus stiffened. A second later, the office door swung open, and gentle footsteps made their way across the room. Then, at long last, Albus Dumbledore—dressed in sweeping robes of the deepest burgundy—took a seat across from Severus, his bright blue eyes alight in a merry smile.

"Good evening, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him brightly. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. The house-elves encountered a spot of trouble down in the kitchens, but I have taken care of it. Rest assured, there will be no lasting damage."

Severus did not respond. He simply stared expressionlessly up at Dumbledore's contented, well-rested face. _How odd_ , that in a mere five days, Dumbledore had somehow managed to leave all of his grief and remorse behind, while Severus was drowning in his own.

Dumbledore appeared to be completely undeterred by Severus's stony silence. "I trust your journey was pleasant?" he continued, in the same cheerful voice.

Severus narrowed his eyes, ever-so-slightly. "Pleasant enough," he responded quietly.

"Excellent," said Dumbledore amiably. Raising his hand, he flicked his wand at a cupboard behind Severus's right shoulder. Immediately, two glittering, golden goblets soared out of it, followed by a bottle of red wine. Humming softly, Dumbledore uncorked the bottle and poured a respectable amount of wine into each of the goblets, pushing one across the desk towards Severus.

Severus stared at the goblet for a fraction of a second. Then, slowly, he picked it up, raised it to his lips, and took a sip.

"So," said Dumbledore mildly, after several moments of silence, "How have you been keeping yourself since last we spoke?"

At once, the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Severus gritted his teeth. He knew precisely what Dumbledore was inquiring about, and he had absolutely no desire to discuss _those_ particular feelings with the man he believed was, at the very least, marginally responsible for them. It had been in a moment of weakness that Severus had opened up to Dumbledore, five nights earlier. But so long as Severus was alive and well, there would be no more such nights.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Dumbledore's, Severus took another sip of wine.

Then— "I have been well, given the circumstances," Severus revealed coolly. "As you know, I am no longer employed."

Dumbledore smiled. "I daresay you aren't," he said lightly. "And have you been keeping in touch with any of your— _ah_ —ex-colleagues?"

Severus threw Dumbledore a dirty look. "No," he said hollowly. "Although, I have received letters from a few of them—Walden Macnair, Lucius Malfoy, Jasper Avery—informing me that they have pleaded to having been placed under Imperius Curse, and guaranteeing me a nasty demise should I do a single thing to refute these claims."

To Severus's surprise, Dumbledore merely chuckled. "Yes, I expected as much," he said in an amused voice.

"And you are not troubled by it?" Severus inquired in disbelief.

"Not presently," Dumbledore said simply.

Severus stared at him. "Also," he continued, in a slightly louder voice, "There are rumors that there exists a small group of those who have remained loyal to the Dark Lord, who are still attempting to find him."

Once again, Dumbledore did not appear to be even remotely disturbed by the information. Contrarily, his expression morphed into one of pity. "Ah, yes," he sighed, shaking his head, "And I am sorry to say that they will be sorely disappointed."

Severus frowned. "You told me, when last we spoke, that you did not believe the Dark Lord had truly gone."

"So I did," Dumbledore said, with a wry smile. "But you know as well as I do, Severus, that he did not desert his faithful army and his despicable cause voluntarily."

Severus clenched his jaw and fell quiet. He watched, as Dumbledore leaned backwards in his chair and took a sip of wine. For a second time, a lingering silence seemed to stretch out between the two men, filling the air.

At last, when Severus could bear it no longer, he sat upright and asked sharply, "Why have you called me here this evening, Dumbledore?"

Dumbledore considered him with idle amusement over his half-moon spectacles. "Have you really no idea, Severus?"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "You wrote to me, requesting that I come see you, and I have come. I do not recall you providing me any further information."

Dumbledore smiled. "You are here, Severus, because of a request _you_ made to me in June," he said calmly. "Do you remember it?"

Severus stared at him. "You cannot be serious."

Dumbledore's smile simply became yet more maddening. "On the contrary, I am completely serious."

There was a stunned pause.

Then— "A _job_?" Severus demanded incredulously. "You are offering me a _job_?"

"I am," said Dumbledore steadily.

Severus couldn't believe his ears. Suddenly, he had newfound appreciation for all of the witches and wizards who believed Dumbledore to be a raving lunatic. He had never quite understood the accusations before, but this— _this_ was proof.

"You realize," Severus began malevolently, "That when I first requested to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I was doing so under the Dark Lord's orders."

"I am quite aware of the fact," Dumbledore said airily, "But you are no longer acting under his orders. Therefore, I no longer see reason to deny you your request."

Severus was seized by an overwhelming urge to scream, laugh, and curse, all at the same time. He didn't know what was more infuriating—the words coming out of the headmaster's mouth, or the air of nonchalance with which the man was uttering them.

"I cannot accept your offer," Severus said acidly.

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked calmly, as though he were simply inquiring about the weather.

Severus glared at him. "Talented wizard though I am, Dumbledore, I believe it will be rather impossible for me to teach anyone anything from a prison cell."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. "And why do you assume that you will be teaching from prison, Severus?"

Severus smiled humorlessly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "It appears you have not yet heard the good news," he said smoothly. "I received a letter from Bartemius Crouch, the day before last. My trial has been fixed for the twelfth of November."

Dumbledore smiled. "I have already taken care of that," he said unconcernedly. "Your trial has been repealed."

Severus froze. He gazed at Dumbledore uncomprehendingly. "I beg your pardon?"

"I requested that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement revoke your trial," Dumbledore said lightly. "I have personally vouched for your change in allegiance. In return, they have granted you your freedom."

Blank shock filled every nerve, every cell in Severus's body. But then, just as rapidly, his initial astonishment was replaced by a roaring, ruthless anger, as he fully recognized exactly _what_ Dumbledore would have had to tell the Ministry in order for Severus's name to be cleared. Trembling with fury, Severus leaped to his feet and drew his wand, pointing it directly at Dumbledore's forehead. The portraits on the wall emitted gasps of horror and outrage, but Severus did not care. He was filled with a wrath so powerful that he felt he could demolish the entire office, if need be.

"You swore," Severus snarled. "You _swore_ …you gave me your word! You _swore_ that you wouldn't tell!"

"And I didn't," Dumbledore said, looking unfazed, though there was a distinct chill in his voice now that caused Severus's chest to constrict. "I am a man of my word, Severus. Now, I must demand that you lower your wand and retake your seat."

Severus hesitated for a moment. Then, still glowering, he slowly sank back down onto his chair.

"I did not tell the Ministry anything that I promised you to withhold," Dumbledore explained, once Severus had stowed his wand. "I have simply revealed to them that you changed allegiances when it mattered most, providing me with information that helped bring about the end of the war."

Severus snorted. "I am not fool enough to believe that, Dumbledore," he said derisively. "I am well aware of Crouch's reputation, and I do not believe for a single second that he bought such a feeble testimony."

"Severus, a testimony from me is no ordinary testimony," Dumbledore said steadily, his blue eyes glinting slightly. "Forgive my immodesty, but with the knowledge that I have thrice been offered the position of Minister for Magic, it should come as no surprise to you that I happen to be in excellent standing at the Ministry."

Severus stared at Dumbledore. "So you have cleared me of all charges, in spite of the fact that I am guilty of each and every one."

"Indeed," Dumbledore inclined his head, studying Severus closely. "Provided, of course, that you fulfill certain wishes of mine."

Severus's nostrils flared, and a fresh wave of anger overcame him. "You are blackmailing me," he hissed. "I should have known."

Dumbledore frowned. "Must I remind you, Severus, that in addition to my giving you my word, you gave me yours?"

Severus glared at Dumbledore, breathing heavily. "What?" he spat.

"I asked you what you would give me in return for protecting the Potters," Dumbledore said evenly, his eyes boring into Severus's. "And you responded, 'Anything.'"

And just like that, Severus's fury exploded. Raising his fist, he slammed it onto Dumbledore's desk, causing several of the headmaster's precious silver instruments to fall to the floor with a _crash_. "But you _didn't_ protect them!" Severus snarled, his voice cracked and hoarse. "You _didn't_ live up to your word!"

In a flash, Dumbledore climbed to his feet and swept around his desk. Severus stiffened—but Dumbledore did not strike, nor did his wand. Rather, the headmaster simply strode to the far end of his office and came to a standstill by the large bay windows, gazing up at the deep blue, star-speckled sky.

It was a very, very long while before Dumbledore spoke again.

"I asked you what you would give me in return for…my best efforts to protect the Potters," Dumbledore said quietly, without turning away from the window. "And you responded, 'Anything.'"

And suddenly, unexpectedly, absurdly, Severus was seized by a bizarre urge to offer the old man his deepest condolences, to lessen the burden that lay so apparently and heavily on his shoulders. He wanted to tell the headmaster that the fault lied not with him, but with the Dark Lord, with Severus himself, with the traitorous Black…but he could not bring himself to speak. The words stuck in his throat, and with a jolt of horror, Severus found that his eyes were stinging. He hastily turned his back on Dumbledore and pressed his lips together, swallowing the lump in his throat.

When Severus turned back around, Dumbledore was sitting at his desk again. But his expression was no longer alight with the same carefree, jovial humor that it had been before. His eyes were worn and his demeanor was jaded; he looked as though his one-hundred years had caught up to him, all at once.

"You gave me your word, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "I must ask that you honor it."

Severus closed his eyes.

"I said it once, and I will say it again. Lord Voldemort will return. And I will need you by my side, when he does."

Severus opened his eyes, expression hardening. "For the sake of protecting Potter's spawn, I presume?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Precisely."

Severus released a slow, deep breath. "What do you wish from me?"

At last, Dumbledore smiled. "I request that you join the Hogwarts staff."

Severus twitched. Then, he raised his hands and rubbed his temples. "I have little interest in teaching," he said, through clenched teeth.

"It matters not. I know you will do your job well," Dumbledore said lightly.

"I will be a harsh teacher."

"And certainly not the first."

"People will question your sanity and your judgment for hiring me, Dumbledore."

"As people always have, and always will."

Severus stared at Dumbledore, knowing, somewhere deep within him, that he had absolutely no hope of changing the headmaster's mind. Severus had lost. He had lost the moment he had uttered that one, forsaken word: _Anything_.

"Then, I accept your request," Severus said stiffly.

Dumbledore's face split into a beaming smile. "Excellent," he said happily, climbing to his feet and clapping his hands. "Professor Slughorn will be delighted to hear that one of his old favorites will be taking his place as Potions master."

Severus's stomach dropped. "Potions?"

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Were you under the impression that you would be teaching something else?"

Severus's lip curled. "I assumed that I would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, as that is the position I originally applied for."

"Ah, yes, but unfortunately, we have already filled that particular vacancy," Dumbledore said apologetically, though his eyes were gleaming with amusement. "Professor Slughorn, however, has notified me of his intent to retire this December. He feels much…safer, leaving the school at this time, now that the imminent threat of Lord Voldemort has been dissolved."

Severus repressed a snort. He had no trouble, whatsoever, believing that the portly, little Potions master had delayed his retirement to enjoy the benefits of being under Dumbledore's protective employ during the Dark Lord's reign.

Severus had never particularly cared much for Slughorn, even while he had been a member of his house, and of his precious Slug Club. Lily had liked Slughorn a great deal more than Severus ever had, and for that, he supposed the feeling had been mutual.

But Potions was the one connection Severus and Lily had always shared; no one had appreciated the subtle art behind Potion-making the way Lily had. It was the one thing, the one happy memory that Potter had never been able to take away from him. There had been no foolish wand-waving, no silly incantations in that class; Potter had never managed to hex Severus during a Potions lesson. And even after that fateful, unforgivable June afternoon, there had been something comforting about watching Lily's dark, red hair frizz up from across the classroom, her green eyes narrowed in concentration, as she leaned over her cauldron…regardless of whether or not she despised Severus…

"Severus?"

Severus blinked. Dumbledore was eyeing him curiously.

Severus cleared his throat. "When do I start?" he asked shortly.

Dumbledore smiled, holding out his hand. Severus hesitated for a moment; then, slowly, he reached out and shook it. "You will start on Monday," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "For the remainder of the term, you will audit Horace's lessons, acquainting yourself with his students. After the holidays, you will take over completely."

Severus rose to his feet and drew his black traveling cloak around his shoulders, fastening the buttons. Dumbledore followed him to the office door.

"Goodbye, Dumbledore," Severus said coolly. "I will see you next week."

Dumbledore beamed. "Oh, there are no goodbyes in this world, Severus," he said brightly, patting Severus's shoulder. "There is only love."

Severus stared at the headmaster. Despite his airy tone, Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes carried a glimmer of something that was a little too understanding for Severus's liking. With a curt nod, Severus Snape pulled open the door and stepped out of the Headmaster's office, into a future that—regardless of what Dumbledore claimed—felt just as gray and murky as his past.

* * *

Author's Note:

Hello! This is my second one-shot for the Cinema Competition. This time, the prompt was The Perfect Storm. I had to write about incredible stubbornness, or alternatively, a death...and, well, I chose to incorporate a bit of both: Severus's stubbornness in refusing to comply to Dumbledore's plans, Dumbledore's stubbornness in insisting that Severus comply to his plans, and of course, Lily's death, which hangs heavily in the air between them. :'( I also had the option of using the following quote: "There are no goodbyes—there's only love." And I did. No one better to say something like that than Dumbledore!

I hope you enjoyed this. Regardless, please drop me a line, telling me what you thought.

Ari


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